


You (Again)

by pennyroads



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Auror!Jug, F/M, Harry Potter Crossover - Freeform, Ilvermorny, I’m just playing in JKRowling’s sandbox, it’s mostly fluff though let’s be real, mild violence, no one from HP actually makes an appearance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 23:35:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17477069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennyroads/pseuds/pennyroads
Summary: “She remembered long afternoons in the Thunderbird common room and late nights in the Horned Serpent dorm discussing the future and its endless possibilities while everyone else was busy partying elsewhere.She knew who the stranger was. And it took her breath away.” A HPxBughead Crossover.





	You (Again)

**Author's Note:**

> A few notes: Nobody from HP actually makes an appearance. I’m just using the ‘verse. 
> 
> Assume that this takes place in a modern setting, post-DH epilogue. 
> 
> Finally, the mild violence tag is just a precaution - it’s me, this this basically 90% fluff. 
> 
> Enjoy!

 

Betty massaged her temples, trying to stave off a headache. She was having a shitty day - or rather, a bloody awful day. Having lived in England for close to seven years, it was only right that she used the correct vernacular.

Betty massaged her temples, trying to stave off a headache. She was having a shitty day - or rather, a bloody awful day. Having lived in England for close to seven years, it was only right that she used the correct vernacular.

She knew she had a tub of burning bitterroot balm somewhere in her purse, but the work in front of her beckoned her to stay focused until everything was done.

She was down to the last stack of newspaper clippings, carefully analyzing each article with a trained, critical eye when a large, brown barn owl swooped in through the open office window and dropped a letter on her desk. Betty rummaged around the drawers for a treat and the bird took off again with a quiet hoot and a flap of wings.

The letter was addressed to _Betty Cooper, The Daily Prophet_ , but the sender information was left blank. It wasn't unusual. She regularly received anonymous letters - eager readers who had a tip regarding one of her stories; people who wanted to congratulate her on a particular piece; and a good amount of folk who apparently had nothing better to do than spend their time writing carefully worded letters detailing how _little_ they enjoyed her work.

It came with the job - as The Daily Prophet’s youngest (and most accoladed) Features writer, her pieces usually garnered a lot of attention from a broad - and broadly diverse - readership. Her no-holds-barred writing style and flair for the dramatics also generated quite a bit controversy. She was known for being tenacious and fervently chasing down leads that sometimes put her smack dab in the middle of the action - often butting heads with exasperated Aurors, who generally frowned upon her tendency to _‘stick her lovely nose where it didn't belong’_.

A bunch of overzealous, wand-happy buffoons, if you asked her.

She prepared herself for another senseless tirade from a scandalized reader, proclaiming her to be just another ‘brazen yank’ and tore the letter open.

 

_Betts,_

_No word yet._

_Will keep an eye out._

_G_

 

_G_. Gustave, her Ministry informer. His words were vague, but they made perfect sense to Betty. If he didn't have any news about the Stallow arrest, then she was well and truly screwed. Her entire article depended on it.

She had been working on a story about a group of dark arts sympathizers - lead by Anthony Stallow - for the past six months; chasing down leads into the darkest corners of Diagon Alley and obscure countryside locations (one of which had her running into a particularly inhospitable hoard of centaurs). Alas, she was no closer to figuring out where the bastard was hiding. Needless to say, neither were the Aurors - not even after the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had assembled a special task force dedicated exclusively to the case.

She needed the arrest to finish her article. It would be the crown jewel on a piece that covered not only the actions and motives of the suspects who had been wrecking havoc among wizarding Britain with their attacks on purebloods, but also the stigma surrounding the families known to have had ties to former Death Eaters, who continued to be looked at with deep, rancorous suspicion, despite the fact that the current generation carried no guilt for their parents and grandparents’ sins.

Her editor’s communication bubble appeared with a sudden pop, jolting Betty out of her thoughts.

“Cooper, what are you still doing here?” asked Lavender Brown’ disembodied voice. It was a marvelous little enchantment, allowing for easy inter-departmental communication.

“I wanted to finish going through the archive records of the arrests made during the post-War trials. We might have missed something.”

“Oh, pish posh. You can do that on Monday. Go home and don't even think about taking those papers with you.” She instructed sternly.

Betty nodded before remembering that her boss couldn't actually see her.

“Yes, m’am.”

“Brilliant. Have fun!” Betty sighed, gathering the documents into a neat pile and sticking them in the desk drawer. _Fun_ wasn't in the cards tonight. Nothing soured her mood quite like reaching a dead end on a case.

She grabbed her bag and cloak and with a flick of her wand, the candles went out and darkness swallowed the room.

.

Betty apparated into her apartment and immediately slumped down on the couch - an ugly monstrosity that she thought was quite possibly the coziest piece of furniture ever made, due in part to several handy cushioning spells.

Seconds later, a large, lithe cat with a black and white coat jumped up, landing square on top of her stomach, causing Betty to let out a loud grunt. It sat down, facing her calmly.

“Yes Griffin, I know you’re hungry.”

The cat meowed louder, its feline eyes boring into hers.

“Okay, okay! I’m.” Betty relented, making a show of getting up. The tuxedo cat trailed behind her, victorious.

.

Having fed the cat, as well as herself, Betty returned to the living room with a book and a glass of wine. She remembered her boss’ words and she wouldn't be working tonight. But she was a homebody by nature and you would be hard pressed to find her at The Three Broomsticks on a Friday night.

No, this was her ideal evening - a smattering of candles enchanted to burn _just_ bright enough; a glass of sweet, fizzy elven wine; and cozying up in the couch with her cat and Patricia Higher-Smithy’s latest novel.

_Bliss_.

Betty was just about to drop into the couch when her fireplace emitted the tell-tale alert of someone about to come in through the Floo Network.

She uttered a fim ‘ _accio wand_ ’ and shifted into an offensive position just in time to watch the stranger drop into the hearth.

“Expelliarmus!” Betty shouted. She was very much a student of the ‘attack-first-ask-questions-later’ school of thought.

The stranger didn't have time to cast a counter spell. It seemed like he hadn't expected anybody to be waiting for him - he looked around in a panic, trying to make sense of his surroundings.

He was tall, lean and pale, with unruly dark hair and piercing blue eyes. He was wearing official Auror robes - the _American_ Aurors - confusing Betty further. There was a crown insignia stitched onto his cloak, which she immediately recognized as the symbol of the new special investigative branch of the British Auror Department.

Something clicked in her brain, which flooded with flashes of memories; a boy - younger, softer-looking, skulking about the library at Ilvermorny.

She remembered long walks into the woods, discussing no-maj inventions and watching a smile unfurl on his face because of something she said - and the subsequent warmth that spread through her chest because _she_ had caused it.

She remembered long afternoons in the Thunderbird common room, their heads pressed close together, reading through a particularly difficult enchantment and trying to figure out the proper wand movement.

She also remembered late nights in the Horned Serpent boys’ dorm, both of them laying side by side on Jug’s bed, discussing the future and its endless possibilities while everyone else was busy partying elsewhere.

She knew who the stranger was. And it took her breath away.

“ _Jughead_...?”

Recognition flooded his eyes. His mouth opened and closed in a perfection impression of a fish out of water.

“Betty?” he rasped. “Betty Cooper?”

She nodded, a smile taking hold of her lips. Betty dropped her wand on the couch and launched herself at a shell-shocked Jughead, who wrapped his arms around her slowly.

Once they separated, her eyes took him in, cataloguing the differences in his appearance. He was taller, definitely; stronger, too.

There was something sharp about his face - long gone was the fresh-faced boy from her youth. This version of Jughead was all grown up and Betty couldn't help but think that the years had been very generous to him.

His own appraisal of her was thorough, eyes languidly looking her over from her blonde hair all the way down to her socked feet.

When their gazes met, Betty felt herself flush at the warmth in Jughead’s eyes. There was an intimate familiarity there, so at odds with the reserved Serpent she remembered. His smile, though, remainder the same: sardonic, lopsided, ready to decimate you with a single quip.

Betty broke the silence first. “What are you doing here?”

“Here, as in your house? I have no idea.”

His words surprised her, and she shot him a disbelieving look.

“I usually apparate home, but I had to drop by the Ministry to sort out some paperwork. Flooing was just more convenient,” he shrugged. “I must have gotten the address wrong.”

“This is number 8 Marlborough Street.” Betty offered.

Jughead sighed, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back slightly. “Ah, that explains it. I’m _supposed_ to be at number 18.”

“So we’ve been neighbors all this time?! Wait, how long have you been in UK?”

“A couple of weeks. I haven't spent much time at home, to be honest.”

Betty noted the deep, dark circles under his eyes. His shoulders, too, seemed stiff, his entire posture tense.

“So the Ministry of Magic decided to bring in reinforcements.” Betty scoffed. “Will wonders never cease?”

“I'm sensing some animosity.”

“The Aurors and I... we’ve had our differences.”

“Why does that not susprise me?”

“I have no idea. I’ve always been the poster girl for decorum.” Betty replied, mirroring his sarcastic tone.

“You and I both. It's probably why they sent me.” He snarked.

“I suppose they _would_ send their best and brightest. The Magical Congress never could resist a chance to gloat. I heard you made Captain?”

“I didn't know that piece of news had made it across the pond.”

“Please,” Betty said with an exaggerated eye roll. “The stories about the way you dismantled that jingle dust trafficking ring had ladies across Britain clutching their pearls over their afternoon tea. Did you _have_ to force a senior member of the Wizengamot to walk out of his house in nothing but dragonhide boots?”

“He had it coming. Besides, how else would I scandalize foreign women?”

The both grinned wide, a little goofily. It was a relief to know that the easy rapport that had marked their friendship when they were young was still there. They were still _them_.

Even back in school, when Jughead voluntarily secluded himself from the rest of his peers - except for a very select few - and Betty dedicated most of her time to her various extracurricular pursuits, they had always purposefully carved out time for each other.

Away from the loud commotion of their respective common rooms, away from the prying eyes and curious ears of the friendly ghosts that haunted the halls of Ilvermorny, they had built a friendship based on mutual trust and respect, and a matching, cunning intellect.

But there had always been a layer of mystery surrounding Jughead, tucked close around his heart. No matter how hard she tried, he never really allowed her to get close enough to lift it; to peek underneath.

The fact that they had grown apart after graduation weighed on Betty’s heart even now. Maybe, _especially_ now.

A soft meowing pierced the moment. Betty looked down and saw Griffin serpentining between her legs. Jughead crouched to pet the cat, scratching behind its ears. Griffin purred appreciatively.

“I hope I'm not interrupting your evening.” he said a moment later, looking around the living room as if checking to see if she might have company.

Betty was quick to set him straight.

“Oh, no. I was just going to do some reading,” she admitted. ”Stay a bit, let’s catch up. I want to make it up to you for earlier.”

“Earlier?” Jughead asked curiously.

“Yeah,” Betty smirked. “When I totally kicked your ass with a simple disarming spell, Captain Jones.”

He began to argue that she had caught him completely unaware and that he _had_ been just about to fight back, _okay_ \- but she had already disappeared through the door.

.

Betty leaned against the wall of her darkened hallway, flushed and giddy. She was in _so_ much trouble.

.

“Do you want a drink?”

“Sure. What do you have?”

Betty showed him to the liquor cabinet, inviting him to peruse the selection of spirits while she summoned two glasses.

Jughead let out an amused snort. “I haven't had Gigglewater since Veronica turned the Horned Serpent common room into a speakeasy during Christmas break.”

He opted for a bottle of smooth, amber firewhiskey, pouring a dram into each cup.

They settled down on the couch; close, but not touching, their bodies facing each other.

“You guys always had the best booze. How you managed smuggle it in remains, to this day, one of the biggest unsolved mysteries of our generation.”

A mischievous smile formed on Jughead’s lips. “We had our ways.”

Betty arched an eyebrow, silently asking him to go on. He simply added, “a Serpent never tells.”

“Whatever, I’ll add it to the list of things about you that still confuse the hell out of me,” Betty replied, “like for instance, why you bailed on our date to the Thanksgiving ball in 7th year.”

Betty aimed for a light, teasing tone, but what came out instead was curt and sharp.

She didn't know why she had brought it up. It happened years ago and she was completely over it. She _was_.

It _had_ hurt, at the time. After spending years pining over Archie Andrews - a waste of everyone's time, seeing as how they never would have worked out in the long run - she had finally realized what she should have known all along - that the sharp-minded, charismatic Horned Serpent was much more suited for her.

Asking him to the ball had taken a Herculean effort on her part, and she had been so excited when he said yes ( _“But I don’t dance”, he added quickly. “I’ll dance and you can watch from the sidelines, how’s that?”_ ).

His absence, shoddily explained by a regretful Archie, was a blow to her self-esteem. Mostly, though, it felt like a missed opportunity.

She had always wondered if things would have turned out differently, had they spent that night together.

Betty steeled herself and turned her eyes to his, expecting to see confusion, but finding a deep grimace instead. Something akin to shame clouded his features.

Jughead lowered his gaze, shifting uncomfortably, eyes scrunching closed before slowly meeting hers again.

“I never meant to do that, Betty. I promise.” His tone was firm. His hand, so close to hers on the couch, crawled an inch and then another. If Betty moved her pinky, they’d be touching.

She forced her hand to remain still.

“Archie talked me into helping him study for his Potions exam,” he continued. “That year, we had to brew a batch of Draught of Peace, do you remember? Harmless stuff.”

Betty nodded, her curiosity getting the best of her.

“Well, one of us had to test it. I was sure it would be safe, because I helped him make it.” Jughead snorted, shaking his head. “Turns out, Archie mistook powdered bicorn horn for sopophorous bean dust.”

“Rookie move...”

“Right?! He got an earful for that, trust me...” Jughead’s brow furrowed dramatically, as though the memory of the incident still caused him great offense.

“Anyway, as it turns out, it _didn’t_ soothe my anxiety, but it _did_ make me projectile vomit for an entire whole day.”

A beet-red blush colored Jughead’s cheeks and his eyes remained steadfastly downcast. Although Betty tried to hold it in, there was no stopping the boisterous laugh that erupted from her chest. Jughead’s blush crept all the way down his neck.

“Laugh away, but I had to explain the situation to Mediwitch Burnett and she was not amused. I think she purposely made me wait longer to teach me a lesson.”

Betty focused on controlling her breath, reining in any leftover giggles. At some point, Jughead had gotten over him embarrassment and started laughing with her.

“So... just so we’re clear here, I’m totally blaming Archie for us not having gone on that date and I think you should, too.” He said.

Betty chuckled. “Always blame the Wampus.”

“To be fair, they’re usually to blame.”

“Do you remember that time Archie enchanted his t-shirt to say _‘Is that a wand in your pocket or are you just happy to see me’_?”

Jughead sniggered. “And got into so much trouble for wearing it out during a trip to no-maj Boston? How could I forget?!”

“Classic Wampus.”

“Classic Archie, you mean.”

Betty smiled fondly at the memory, taking a drink from her glass.

“By the way, how is your sister? She must be so big.”

Jughead’s smile softened into a tender grin. “Tell me about it,” he whined. “She's about to graduate. Top of her class, too.”

“Wow, really? That's amazing. What house is she in?”

Jughead shot her an amused smile. “Thunderbird, actually.”

Betty let out a surprised laugh. “No. Way. She's in MY house? Oh man, it seems like I got saddled with the wrong Jones sibling after all.”

“No joke, she actually reminds me a lot of you.” At Betty's inquisitive look, he continued. “Smart. Tenacious. _Stubborn_.”

Betty rolled her eyes in response.

“And so, so strong.” His words, spoken softly, surprised Betty, who was momentarily lost for words.

“Jug...”

“But yeah, she's a firecracker.” he interrupted, eyes refusing to meet hers. “I’m hoping to be back in time for her graduation.”

Betty recognized it for what it was - an attempt to change the subject. She decided to indulge him. There was no reason to poke that particular bruise.

Jughead Jones - once Horned Serpent’s resident brooding loner, now the golden boy of the Magical Congress of the United States of America’s Auror Department.

Still just as quick-witted. Still an enigma. Betty had never shied away from a mystery and so far, Jughead was the only one she hadn't been able to crack.

“What _are_ you doing here, really?” Betty asked. She thought back to the insignia on his cloak, now draped over the back of one of her chairs.

Jughead turned an analytical eye on her. He seemed to be trying to figure out wether or not he could confide in her. She recognized the expression from their Ilvermorny days, all those times she had come to him with a particular problem and he’d taken a moment to turn it over in his head, looking at it from every possible angle, deep in thought. He used to raise his left eyebrow quizzically, just like he was doing now.

“I was brought in to help with the Stallow investigation,” he said after a pregnant pause.

Betty’s eyes snapped to his, her full attention focused on him.

“Oh?”

Jughead narrowed his eyes at her. “What do you know about it?”

An actress, Betty was not. But years of sleuthing and interviewing people who didn't exactly need to know they were being interviews had blessed her with certain skills.

“Oh, just what's been said around town. Apparently him and his buddies have caused quite a mess for the Aurors.”

“It's a media circus, is what it is.” Jughead groaned.

“As a member of the media, I sort of resent that.” She blurted, before she could stop herself.

“You're a reporter?” Jughead’s eyes took on a betrayed look, his tone accusing. Betty felt her stomach drop.

“Yes. But before you say anything, it's not why I asked.” She explained. Jughead rubbed his eyes tiredly, his posture becoming rigid.

“Betty, I can't discuss any of this with the press. The reason why the Aurors haven't caught him yet is because the papers keep tipping him off.”

Although Betty knew that he wasn't talking about her, specifically - she had yet to write about the subject and she knew how to do her job. She’d never publish anything that could jeopardize an investigation - she felt guilt pooling in her gut.

She needed to make him understand.

“Juggie,” The old nickname fell from her lips without her permission, but it got the job done. His shoulders relaxed slightly.

“I do work for The Daily Prophet. But I would never-“ she grabbed his arm, squeezing gently. “I would _never_ use you like that.”

Jughead looked deep into her eyes and nodded, mollified. Even after years apart, he still trusted her. Betty breathed deep, relief washing over her.

A whisper of awkward tension had begun to fill the silence around them. Betty cleared her throat.

“Well, one thing is for sure, you can count on the Brits to make an excellent firewhiskey. Would you like another?” Betty grabbed his glass and headed towards the kitchen, shaking off the tension from her own shoulders.

“No, thank you. I have an early start tomorrow and I don't think a hangover is appropriate for watching brooms zoom past you at neck-breaking speed.”

Betty scourgified the glasses and vanished them to their proper place, grabbing two bottles of water. She returned to the couch and handed him one of the bottles, which he took gratefully, breaking the seal and taking a large gulp. Betty’s eyes tracked the movement, watching his neck muscles contract every time he swallowed. She imagined what it would feel like to run her tongue down the length of his smooth, pale skin.

She looked away, appalled at herself, erasing the mental picture from her brain. Clearly, the alcohol had gone to her head.

“So you're going to the game tomorrow?”

Betty hoped Jughead wouldn't notice how high her voice had gotten.

“Yeah, Archie’s playing. Did you know that he’s a chaser for the Harpies?”

“Hmm yes, I interviewed him for the paper once, years ago.”

“Funny, he never mentioned that.”

“Should he have?” She asked, eyebrow arched in interest.

Jughead’s smile was small. A little sad. “If he knew me at all, yes.”

Betty decided that this was her shot. You had to risk it to get the buiscuit, and she was done letting fate decide her life when it came to this man.

“Listen, Jug... I have a little bit of work to do tomorrow morning and you’ll be at the game of course,” she said. Jughead looked intrigued and it encouraged Betty to continue.

“But... maybe later we can meet up? Grab some food at The Leaping Frog? They make a mean Shepard's pie.” She smiled tentatively, her heart speeding up a fraction, waiting for his response.

It was always scary, putting yourself in a vulnerable position. Betty was used to doing it for her job, stepping into harm’s way without batting an eye. But when it came to her heart - that was another matter entirely.

Jughead’s smile eased her fears. It was open, eager, excited.

“You still know the way to my heart, Cooper. I never say no to good food.”

“Or good company.” He added with a lopsided smile.

Betty marveled at the person sitting in front of her. It was still her Jughead, but not; he had grown, not just in size, but in confidence.

“Great. Then we can meet in Diagon Alley after lunch. Does that work for you?” She tried to tone down the excitement in her voice and failed.

“Perfect.” Jughead agreed. The accompanying smile was blinding.

.

“Great game, Arch.” Jughead gave the redheaded chaser a congratulatory pat on the back.

“Thanks, Jug! Glad you could make it.” Archie beamed. He was sweaty and dirty, his Quidditch robes hopelessly rumpled, but his face was happy and he was practically vibrating with energy.

Jughead supposed anyone would look like that after such a nail-biting win.

“Listen, I wish we could hang out like we had planned but I actually have to go meet someone.” Jughead explained apologetically.

“What, a hot date?” Archie joked.

Jughead thought back to the night before.

He thought of Betty, sleepy, a little tipsy, showing him out after hours of comfortable conversation.

He thought of the way they had held each close as they hugged goodbye, Jughead trying to commit Betty’s scent to memory as he inhaled her sweet, floral perfume; their relaxed smiles, a little coy even after an evening spent rediscovering each other and finding that the spark between them was still very much there; and the way their eyes communicated everything they were feeling - hopeful, excited, _craving_.

Merlin’s beard, he _hoped_ it was a hot date.

“Maybe?” He said instead, smiling bashfully.

“That’s great, man. Who's the lucky girl?”

“Betty.” Jughead replied. “Betty Cooper.”

Archie chuckled. “Betty Cooper. Of _course_. It's only been what, a decade?”

“Seven years. And by the way, thanks for telling she was living here. Or that she had _interviewed_ you. Some friend you are.” Jughead said, faking a hurt expression.

“What? Oh... Jug, that was years ago. I barely remember it. Besides, how was I supposed to know you still carried a torch for her?”

Jughead scoffed. “When did I ever stop?”

And there it was. Seven years had passed since he had last seen her, but it might as well have been seven days. He was still - Merlin help him - just as taken with her.

When he saw her standing in her living room, eyes wide, bright and alert, body poised to attack, he felt as though he had somehow traveled back in time to their 7th year at Ilvermorny.

He could pick any Defense Against the Darks Class the Horned Serpent has shared with the Thunderbirds; his most vivid memories were all of Betty, cheeks flushed and bright, her body in that same alert, offensive position, throwing spells and counter spells at her opponent.

It had been hard for Jughead to focus on much else at the time. Those classes had been _torturous._

Jughead didn't have many regrets; he lived for the moment - the past is in the past, all you can do is work hard, be thankful for what you have and take whatever’s coming with your head held high - but he deeply, vehemently regretted not having had the courage to go after Betty Cooper.

That unfortunate incident at the Thanksgiving ball was only one of many missed opportunities.

Every time they spent hours and hours deep in the bowels of the library, pouring over a History of Magic assignment - he wanted to reach out, tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear and ask if she wanted to grab a pumpkin juice with him at their next outing. But he didn't.

Every time she smiled to herself, shy and pleased, after correctly answering a professor’s question in class, a faint pink blush coloring her cheeks and contrasting so well with her blue and cranberry school robes - he wanted to pass her a note, asking ‘ _would you want to hang out later? just the two of us? but not like normal - like more than friendsohwhatareyouevensayingyouMORON’_ he inevitably crossed it out, angrily vanishing the paper with a sharp flick of his wand.

Every class they shared, every walk around the school, every late night up in the astronomy tower gazing at the stars (the other students mapped the constellations, Jughead mapped the way her face morphed into a smile when she found a new star) he wanted to ask her. _Be mine?_

But he never did. And then it had been too late.

He vowed not to let it happen again.

He said his goodbyes to Archie, who wished him luck in his usual good-natured, perpetually joyful way, and walked to the apparition point outside the Quidditch pitch.

There was hope in his heart and a spring in his step.

.

Mayhem reined in Diagon Alley.

People were screaming, running away in a panic. Curses flew past, hitting witches and wizards at random.

Jughead released his wand from the holster with the practiced ease of a well-trained Auror, dodging a hex and uttering a ‘ _Protego!’_ to stop a nasty blasting curse from reaching a woman close to him.

He grabbed her by the arm as she ran past him, pleading with her to tell him what had happened.

“S-Stallow! Stallow and his men. They-they’re attacking ev-everybody!” The witch sobbed, racked with panic.

In the distance, he saw a group of wizards in long, golden robes making their way down the street, cursing everyone in sight. Witches and wizards who tried to oppose them all met the same fate, ending up sprawled on the floor, unmoving.

Jughead didn't waste any time. He set out to join the the throngs of people crowding the alley, pushing past scared shoppers and jumping over discarded bags.

He regretted not being able to stop and check on the injured, but his focus remained on two things only: Stallow and Betty.

Betty. Her name was a litany in his brain. She had to be somewhere among the crowd.

He knew that she was more than capable of defending herself, but these weren't normal circumstances. It wasn't a civilized duel. These were dark wizards.

Which brought him back to Stallow. His main objective should be to find him and stop the attack. He knew with absolute certainty that the entire Auror Department would soon be descending upon Diagon Alley.

He looked up in time to see a wizard in the same distinctive golden robes appear suddenly and raise his wand in his direction. Jughead was faster, casting a full-body bind and incapacitating his opponent. He turned, prepared to continue barreling down the street, when someone hit with a powerful disarming spell, causing him lose his balance and crash down, hitting his head on the pavement.

Jughead blinked, disoriented. His vision was blurry, but he could still hear the screaming. He ran a hand over his forehead, assessing the gash he knew was on his left brow. He could feel blood trickling out of wound. He'd have to deal with it later.

Jughead looked for his wand, which lay discarded a couple of feet from him. He grabbed it, stumbling to his feet.

That's when he saw her.

Betty stood tall, head held high, facing Stallow and his lackeys, every inch of her body prepared for battle. She was a sight for sore eyes.

Dread coursed through Jughead’s veins, cold and nauseating. He felt panic rising in his chest, his legs shaking. Never in his life had he felt fear this strong, this all-consuming.

He heard, rather than saw, an entire squad of Aurors apparating around him. Jughead didn't even spare them a glance; he stared resolutely ahead, his feet picking up speed. He needed to get to her before-

Stallow raised his wand. Jughead’s heart was beating so fast that he wondered how it hadn't burst through his chest. He willed his legs to run faster, but his body was failing him, still reeling from the blow the head.

Jughead was close. He tried to yell out, willing Betty to move out of the way. She heard him - whipped her head around, mouth falling open, worry filling her wide, green eyes.

Jughead didn't get a chance to tell her anything. As soon as he reached her, Stallow yelled out a curse, wand pointed straight at them. Jughead only had time to place his body firmly in front of hers, keeping her from getting hit.

The last thing he saw before falling unconscious on the ground was a group of Aurors stunning Stallow and disarming the rest of the wizards; and the last thing he heard was Betty yelling out his name, her voice shaking with terror.

.

“It’s not a bad story to tell the kids.” Jughead joked, shooting Betty a sardonic smile.

“You’re only saying that because you got to play the hero. It wasn't as fun from where I was standing.” Betty admonished. She ran a hand gently over his chest, needing to feel his heartbeat, to reassure herself that he was alive, healing, _here_.

Jughead lay sprawled on the couch with his head on Betty’s lap. He had been released from St Mungus that morning and despite the fact that he had made a full recovery, Betty insisted that he go back to her apartment so that she could keep an eye on him. If she had her way, he'd never leave her sight again.

“Trust me, it wasn't fun for me, either.” He blocked out the imagine of Betty standing in the crossfire, refusing to let it take control of his brain. Thinking about it still gave him anxiety.

“Then let's agree never to do it again.” Betty said decisively. Jughead smiled, even though he knew he wouldn't be able to fulfill that promise. Not when his job demanded that he put himself into these situations on a daily basis.

But Betty knew that. The look in her eyes told him that she accepted it, however reluctantly, and wanted to be with him despite it. She had said as much, as soon as he had woken up, groggy from the effect of Stallow’s curse.

“Sounds like a plan. Shall we stay in this couch forever? We could order owl delivery every day.”

Betty chortled. “Of course food is the only thing that matters to you.”

“Food, yes. And you. What else do I need?”

Betty’s smile took over her face, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Nothing at all, my love.”

She leaned down and their lips met, slotting together perfectly. Jughead smiled.

“Except maybe one of those no-maj TVs.”

...

**Author's Note:**

> Will I ever write anything canon-compliant?? Ha. Ha. 
> 
> This is a different from what I usually write and I’m a little nervous. Please let me know what you thought in the comments? 
> 
> As always, you can find me on tumblr @pennyroads. Thank you for reading!


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